


When Stories Come to Life

by MirwenAnareth



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Gay, M/M, Parody
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-28
Updated: 2016-06-28
Packaged: 2018-07-18 16:57:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7323385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MirwenAnareth/pseuds/MirwenAnareth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ever wondered what happens when a character finds out you wrote a gay porn fanfiction about them? Well, now you know the answer. Warning: This story is GAY!</p>
            </blockquote>





	When Stories Come to Life

**Author's Note:**

> **Skyrim belongs to Bethesda Game Studios.**
> 
>  
> 
> This story is dedicated to dart0808 as a part of his initiation into the gay world. All hail the Gay Lord!

Listening to women's giggles always made Brynjolf feel uneasy. Here, at the center of Riften, the most rotten city in Skyrim, possibly in all Tamriel, nobody's heart was pure. Once you decided to stay in the city for more than just a few moments, your soul would become tainted. Of course, that was in large measure Brynjolf's own doing, for no one escaped his ever watchful eye, and this red-haired Nord had a knack for spotting other people's weaknesses. One look was enough to ensure a person would listen to his words and most likely do whatever he wanted them to. Never in his life had he met a person without any dark intentions, without something their hearts desperately craved for, and his job was to pull this desire out from the depths of their conscience and shape it into something real, tangible and most possibly dyed in gold. However, even Brynjolf had something he feared. There were beings in this world whose dark nature by far surpassed his, entities to whom he could never compare, frightful demons with eyes full of lust. And they were everywhere.

Women. Those creatures of dark, walking the streets beside men like him, always looking with those attentive eyes, always judging and weighing, scheming and devising.

From time to time, Brynjolf enjoyed a woman's company, reveled in watching her elegant frame and slender hands which stretched towards him like wings of an angel. The gods had bestowed beauty upon these creatures which could not be compared to anything in this world, but, by the Nine, why did they have to be so unpredictable?

Once, a woman had lured him into one of the secluded rooms in the Bee and Barb, the local inn, and made him strip all the way down to his feet. But what a shock it was when a friend of hers came to join her, and they played with him for a good while, giggling and inspecting his body with curious looks in their faces and eyes wide like two children who had found an anthill and now were poking it with wooden sticks, watching what would happen next. The poking then was performed by the means of their thin fingers, their tips carrying nails longer than the hilt of his dagger and colored in bright red and black. And then the demons spoke.

"So, what do you say?" one asked with an impish giggle. "Top, or bottom?"

"Well, look at his pelvis," the other one breathed, giving Brynjolf a scrutinizing look. "So mighty, like a dragon's jaw, ready to snatch…" _What in Oblivion are they talking about?!_

"Oooh, you have to use this one!" the first one exclaimed, clapping her hands gleefully, and reached for a quill and piece of paper which very conveniently lay on the bedside table just by the window. She scribbled something there in a rush and turned back to Brynjolf, her gaze so intense that it made him avert his eyes. "But to let him be the dominant… look how shy he is, and those puppy eyes…" now he stared at her incredulously, "and that adorable knoblet down there!" The woman squealed and covered her mouth with both of her hands.

Brynjolf followed her finger, now pointing to an especially sensitive area of his body. His eyes narrowed into a death glare, piercing the devil before him. This. Ends. Now.

"Well, ladies," he pointed in a quiet voice, "sorry to shatter your hopes. Now if you'll excuse me, I'll put this _knoblet_ of mine back in its cover and be on my way. Oh," he added as he pulled the black breeches he wore under his merchant uniform back on, "and you better watch out for the tax collectors. They might come sooner than you think."

He walked out of the room with a sour scowl on his face, and from behind he heard the giggling again, accompanied by the words "So manly! The beast awakens, rawr!" And a burst of laughter followed.

He was snapped back to Nirn, shuddering at the memory, and felt beads of cold sweat emerging on his forehead. He slapped his face inwardly, reminding himself that he was currently standing by his stall in the city marketplace, trying to sell one of his miraculous potions. The naiveté of Riften citizens never failed to amaze him, as they never hesitated to buy a love potion or something to change their appearance, and despite his inventions never being more than simple decoctions made of herbs stolen from Ingun Black-Briar's inventory, there were always a few idiots that actually believed them and even after trying them for the umpteenth time, they were eager to spread the word of his godly elixirs.

"Beautiful baubles and gleaming gemstones over here!" called the Argonian on the remote side of the round plaza located at the center of the city, surrounded by a low stone wall and wooden pavement built over the canal which traversed the whole settlement. Madesi, the jewelry merchant, was always surrounded by women of all sorts, examining his goods with eyes glistening with greed. Oh, the demons flocking about, with arms akimbo, bouncing their hips as though they were floating, always thinking at the back of their minds, always scheming and dreaming. A good source of easy income, they were, but gods forbid that a man were to approach them in earnest.

And their giggles, their infinite giggles. Women always managed to find something to giggle at, albeit completely beyond a man's comprehension, usually accompanying it with a stare in someone's general direction.

"Ohoho," he heard one of them chortle, twisting where she stood with a hand pressed to her cheek, "and you know what he said then? You are like a single petal of a rose that fell to my feet, so helpless, so innocent that I had to pick you up. I will cherish this beautiful being for the rest of my life!"

Brynjolf scowled and resisted the urge to stick out his tongue in disgust. Now came the business part, and so he straightened his back and put on his most positive and forthcoming smile, calling from the top of his lungs.

"And you can help him do so if you buy my Scented Elixir of Beauty!" he called to her, promptly depositing a translucent bottle on his stall. It was gleaming in light pink color as the rays of afternoon sun touched its surface. "Yes, yes, it was here before, but listen! Gather 'round and listen, all of you! I have met an alchemist, a prodigy of great skill! Remember my Falmer Blood Elixir? Be amazed, because this," he raised the bottle above his head, turning it around in slow motion, "is the astounding combination of longevity and beauty. In one single flask!"

A number of ah's and oh's rose from the crowd and there were murmurs spreading like circles on the water, but a few faces twisted in exasperated scowls and a Dunmer man scoffed with a theatrical shake of his head.

"Come on, Brynjolf, another one? We all know how effective your potions are!"

"Oh but that's where you're wrong," Brynjolf replied with stoic patience. "This one contains refined dust of aedric origins, a very rare ingredient! It might not be appealing to you, Brand-Shei, but to the ladies here, it will be a miracle. One sip and your life energy is restored, your body reshaped exactly as you like it and your mind clear of all worries! You will be born anew!"

"But Brynjolf…"

"Yes, yes, I will take one!" the woman from before exclaimed, hurrying towards the stall maybe a little too eagerly. Indeed, someone like her would certainly find use of such a potion, being chubby, unappealing and with crooked legs, but nevertheless, Brynjolf stepped forward, smiling angelically at her, and gently touched her hip.

"Pardon me, my fair lady, but already stunning as you are, you will rip every man's heart off of their chest with this potion," he purred sweetly. "That calls for a discount. Fifteen septims for you."

"Oh," she tingled shyly, a crimson flush dying her cheeks, "why thank you. Here you go." She pressed a few coins into Brynjolf's hand, taking the flask with a reverent look, and let Brynjolf touch her once more. His eyes followed her as she scurried from the marketplace, squealing in excitement, and his hand wandered into his satchel, depositing fifteen golden coins along with a ring and a few folded pieces of paper. Today's hunt was already a success.

As more people gathered, Brynjolf let them argue among themselves for a good while, using their own words against them.

"Ah, but we have no proof…" a man in farmer's clothing said with a skeptical frown.

"Oh come on, where's the harm in trying? If it were up to you, you'd spend your life loafing about that crumbling shack of yours, no adventure, no excitement! You should always try everything you can!" Housewives. How amazing they can be.

"Aye, that is right," Brynjolf nodded eagerly. "You wouldn't disappoint such a spirited lady, would you now?"

"Excuse me, but this is my wife and we're in the middle of…"

"Yes, and a very energetic and admirable wife, I must say. You are very lucky to have her by your side. I pray that you spend many more happy years together."

"I… uh… I guess we could take one…"

And that is how it went, until the sun descended to the western horizon and the last of the golden rays of light flickered and disappeared beneath the Riften roofs. Brynjolf waited until most of the people vacated the area, purposely ignoring Mjoll the Lioness who strode through the city with her typical frown, complaining about how the city needs purging from the thieves to a young milk-drinker who always followed her every step. When they had finally passed and disappeared behind the door to the Bee and Barb, Brynjolf packed his things and made his way to the cemetery adjacent to the Temple of Mara and down to the Cistern, a round cave with a pond and circular dais at the center, connected to the rest of the room by four narrow bridges.

He was immediately greeted by his guildsiblings, the ever so positive Rune grinning at him with his usual mirth and Thrynn standing in the middle of the room in his threatening stance. Niruin, the Bosmer archer, was busy with turning his shooting target into a pincushion, but he raised his head as the red-haired Nord entered.

"Oh hey, Bryn," he sang in his smooth tenor, "I heard girls from the city talking about you today. Becoming quite popular lately, I see."

"Oh not again," Brynjolf groaned.

"Apparently, they're turning you into a legend. Something with idols and unexpected love stories, I hear."

"Oh hush! Those have been around for some time. If that's all, it's good."

"Ah, but then again, they're starting to pick more targets," the elf said with a laugh. "Apparently there's not a man in the guild that would not fall prey to them sooner or later. Seems like you're not alone this time."

"Now you're scaring me. Well, see you around. Gotta take something to Delvin."

"Sure," Niruin nodded. "By the way, Rune took some of your flasks. Said it was an experiment or what." With that, he returned to his archery practice.

"Oh boy," Brynjolf shook his head as he entered the door on his left, finding himself in a paved passageway with low ceiling. Beneath it was the Ragged Flagon, a secret tavern only accessed by the most ruthless individuals – or the luckiest – and at one of the small tables sat a balding Breton with a large goblet in his hand, going by the name of Delvin Mallory.

"Back from a job, eh?" he asked in a hoarse accented voice, sounding as though he did not use his nose to breathe, which, considering its fairly deformed shape, might have been true. "Har'ly noticed you was gone."

Brynjolf chuckled, as he remembered leaving this man here in the exact same position as he was now. "Here's the spoils," he said proudly, depositing a small fortune of golden septims, gems and jewelry onto the table. "Now I'm ready for a shot of something good. Vekel?"

The bartender behind the counter nodded readily. "I'm on it."

A while later, a pint of Black-Briar Reserve was standing before Brynjolf and pure bliss flooded his cheeks. He raised the flagon to his mouth, patting Delvin on his shoulder. "To our guild," he said, taking a draught of the fine liquid.

"To our guild," Delvin seconded, raising his own.

Brynjolf's hand buried itself to his satchel and pulled out the papers, unfolding them in one swift practiced movement.

"What've you got there?" his companion asked curiously.

"Who knows," the red-hair shrugged. "Judging by who I stole it from, probably a love letter or something."

"Ah, a fine li'erature, I see. Let me read it when yeh finish."

Refreshed by another sip from his flagon, Brynjolf smoothed the paper with his fingers and looked at the sloping script, but the mead sprayed all over the table as he choked. His jaw dropped and his eyes widened in disbelief, staring at the paper, now shaking in his hand. He barely noticed Delvin jumping on his feet, wiping the spilled liquor and spitting curses at him. As well as the said liquor.

Brynjolf reread the line three times. Nothing changed. He reread it once more and the text was still there, written in black and white, and it bored a hole into this stomach. _What in Oblivion is this?!_

_Rune pinned Brynjolf to the wall, the look in his eyes desperate, reeking with lust and desire. Brynjolf gazed at him and could not help but stop at the deliciously thick lips that invited, tempted, lured. He felt hotness in his cheeks, his senses dulled by the proximity of this man's body, by the feeling of his hot breath on his face. Oh gods, please… He felt something tense up down below his abdomen and his lips inadvertently parted, his tongue sticking out slightly to wet them. Rune's hand touched his face, sliding along it in one tender movement._

_"_ _Bryn," the young thief whispered, and the sound of his voice roused Brynjolf even further. "I can't hold it in anymore…"_

 _"_ _It's all right, Rune," Brynjolf said in a comforting voice, his hoarse voice so fresh and crispy it made the other shift nervously. "I'm here…"_

 _"_ _Bryn…" A moment of silence before their lips touched, sliding, caressing, pressing and retreating again._ I wish this moment never ends…

_A sudden flush of desire overtook him. Brynjolf grabbed Rune's shoulders, turning him around and pressing him against the wall, his hands groping about his back before sliding a little lower. This man was his. His and nobody else's. Now the hunger he had felt for so long would finally be satiated._

_He kissed the man between the shallow breaths, lips meeting lips, tongue exploring the depths of this new world of sweetness. He wanted him so badly, this young innocent thief. Ever since he had first laid his eyes on him, he knew this man would one day become his, even if he had to force him. And now he was here on his own, presenting himself to Brynjolf on a silver platter._

_He deepened the kiss. Further and deeper, he needed to taste more of this man._

_"_ _Bryn… ah… I can't…" the youngster moaned. Oh gods, he was so damn cute…_

 _"_ _You're mine," he whispered to him. "I will never let you go."_

Brynjolf covered his mouth and stood up abruptly, clutching the papers in his fingers. Trembling in shock, he left the table and strode past the counter.

"What did yeh find there, Bryn?!" Delvin called to him, but he only shook his head wildly, retreating into the secluded room by the entrance to the Cistern, the only one that was permanently empty.

 _"_ _Bryn… I need to tell you something."_ As he stared at the beginning of the story, cold shivers ran down Brynjolf's spine. Was _this_ what the girls liked to do in their free time?

 _Burn it,_ his mind was telling him, _burn it and you'll never have to look at this again._

But the damage had already been done, and there was this slight tug of curiosity at the back of his mind that kept him from doing the only reasonable thing he could. He took a deep breath and folded the papers, inserting them back into his satchel. A long while passed when he stared at the empty wall, watching the shadows dance on it in the flickering candlelight, before he finally decided to leave the room again. Delvin gazed at him curiously but he just waved his hand.

"False alarm," he sighed. "I thought Maven Black-Briar was breaking ties with us, but the letter was forged."

"Bryn," the Breton said quietly, putting a hand on Brynjolf's shoulder, "yeh was never one to freak out when doing business. So? What had yeh so worked up, eh?"

Ah, blast it. How could he forget that the Guild's main dealer and informant was always quick to catch on?

"Trust me, Delvin, you don't want to know."

"Why so secre'ive? Now you really got my attention."

"It's very personal."

"And since when is yeh afraid of sharin' personal stuff with me, eh?"

"Since… ah, fine, just… keep your voice down, come with me…"

A few moments later, the balding informant of the Thieves Guild burst out in a roar of laughter unlike any and a number of people in the underground tavern raised their brows and exchanged surprised looks.

"De… deliciously thick lips…" the Breton laughed, clutching a stone in the wall with one hand while massaging his belly with the other, "oh gods… and… world of sweetness… I will never let you go… this is so hilarious! Ha ha ha, the author must be a genius!"

"Shhh, Delvin!" Brynjolf hissed, putting a hand over his friend's mouth. "Not so loud!"

"Oh c'mon, Bryn, you can't keep all the fun to yerself!"

"No way in Oblivion I'm sharing this with the rest of the… Sapphire, what the…?"

A dark-haired beauty passed them swiftly, ordering a tankard of her own. She propped herself against the counter, slamming her fist onto it with force one would not have expected of such a slight figure.

"Damn that Shadr! The blasted Redguard's gonna be the death of me. But," she raised a finger, overlooking the whole place with a mischievous spark in her eyes, "I got the most hilarious story for you today. You know that Imperial woman with crooked legs that always comes to Madesi's stall?"

Brynjolf swallowed hard, fists clenching in apprehension.

"Well, if you didn't know, she writes stories," _Oh gods, no!_ "like really dumb ones. And guess what?"

Everyone watched the woman with curious eyes, wondering what was about to come.

"Today, I talked to three people in the Bee and Barb. They all told me the same story. She wrote about them and it came true! To the letter! Literally."

"Aaah, another of those legends," Vex, a blonde Imperial woman, the only one Brynjolf had ever come to respect, said as she joined her guildmates, a smirk on her face as was usual for her. "We got an oracle in Riften, now. Nice little gang we're gathering here. Only means more coin in our… what's wrong, Brynjolf?"

Brynjolf felt the color retreating from his face. He looked at Delvin who was laughing again, barely catching his breath.

"Delvin…"

"This is just so brilliant…"

"Delvin, stop laughing!"

"Bryn, caught in 'is own trap," the Breton roared, slapping his knees.

"What happened?" Vex asked with a raised brow, raising a cup to her lips coolly.

"Brynjolf is 'er next target," Delvin chortled, seating himself on his chair. "Got 'is own story."

"Oh really? Show us, show us!"

"Delvin!" Brynjolf snarled, but now all eyes were on him and everyone was grinning. "Oh, no, no no no!" He backed away, shaking his head. "No story for you, not now, not ever! Now get back to whatever you've been doing!"

"Aww, Bryn, c'mon!"

"No!"

"Delvin, you saw it?"

"I'm warning you, Delvin…"

"Nay, I'll just sit 'ere an' watch," the Breton said with a grin, still shaking with an occasional outburst of laughter.

"You better do," Brynjolf wagged his finger at him, sighing as he turned to exit the tavern. He ignored the disappointed shouts from his guildmates as he entered the Cistern. He sighed in relief, looking over the one place in the world that never changed, finding comfort in the snapping sound of Niruin's bow and the never ceasing screeching of the whetstone. Then Rune approached him with that good-natured smile of his and suddenly Brynjolf was reminded of things he did not want to remember.

"Hey, Bryn…"

"Ah, Rune, sorry, I think I left something back in the Flagon," the red-hair shook his head and turned to leave, but he was stopped by his guildmate who put a hand on his shoulder. Brynjolf shuddered.

"Got just a moment?" he asked in his soft voice.

Brynjolf turned to face him. "What is it?"

Rune shifted on his feet nervously, scratching his chin. Brynjolf could not help but frown in apprehension.

"What is it?" he repeated impatiently.

"You see, Bryn…" Rune began, biting on his lip. He closed his eyes with a sigh and opened them again. Brynjolf pierced him with a look, folding his arms over his chest. There was a small piece of dust stuck to Rune's face and as Brynjolf stared at it, his eyes slid up. Strange. He had never noticed that Rune's eyes were of murky grey color, like a veil of mysteries. And above them spanned two fans of surprisingly long eyelashes…

 _Idiot!_ he screamed at himself inwardly. _That is_ not _how you think of a guildbrother!_

"Listen, if you've got nothing to say, I'd…"

"No, I… gods, this is really hard to say. You know, Bryn, could you meet me at the marketplace after midnight? I need to tell you something."

"I… beg your pardon?" Brynjolf stared at him incredulously. _No, no, no, this is not happening!_

"Just… midnight. Marketplace. See you there." The young thief waved his hand, winked at him and scurried away. Brynjolf shivered as a streak of cold sweat made its way down his cheek.

The time until midnight seemed to be endless and painfully short at the same time. Brynjolf had a meal which he found awfully tasteless, and in the end he put in so much spice that he killed what had been left of the taste himself. His tongue stung and the mead burned his throat. Every time he looked at the paperwork waiting for him on the guildmaster's table, the only thing that was before his eyes were the sloping lines featuring him and Rune.

 _Oh gods, I'm screwed,_ he thought to himself with a heavy sigh. He circled the Cistern restlessly, then circled it again, and again, and one after one the eyes of his guildmates started following his footsteps in curious question.

_No no no, think of something else, something else… no men, women…_

The sight of a chubby woman giggling at the marketplace filled his mind and he shook his head fiercely to chase the image away.

_How about some guild stuff… got a numbers job to do. Need to hurry up or Delvin will get mad…_

The Breton informant was sitting in the Ragged Flagon, laughing like a demented daedra with Sheogorath's blessing at the story of him and Rune.

_Gods damn it, so Sapphire… no, not Sapphire, she's the one who came with the whole oracle business… business, aye, my elixirs?_

_"_ _By the way, Rune took some of your flasks. Said it was an experiment or what,"_ Niruin's words rang in his head. For the love of the Nine, why did _everything_ have to remind him of Rune? Then he stopped, eyes wide, and his hand shot up to his lips. _Oh no!_

No, there was no way… there was simply no way one of those love potions could work, was there? But if it did… no, it couldn't be. Rune wouldn't be so careless… and besides, the potion is supposed to make its consumer fall in love with the first person they saw, and that definitely wasn't Brynjolf… unless… no, no! It simply couldn't be!

Inadvertently, his hand strayed into his satchel, touching the paper inside. He pulled it out and his stomach knotted.

_The moons were out in their full glory and the air was filled with the soft rustling of the grass, matching their mingling breaths. They were so close to each other, and yet both of them wanted to be closer._

_"_ _I want to become one with you," Rune moaned softly. "Please." His eyes were wide, sparkling in the moonlight, making Brynjolf tense and want to strip the boy immediately. His hand found a buckle on his armor, and the cold steel thing clicked open before he could stop himself. Another followed and the armor loosened, exposing the youngster's neck. Brynjolf gulped at the sight of the fair, tender skin, inviting him to go further and rid the boy of everything that separated them. He leaned forward and his lips closed around an especially juicy spot, sucking him, marking him as his own._

 _"_ _B-Bryn…"_

No! Brynjolf quickly folded the paper again, putting it back in its place before the occupants of the Cistern start asking embarrassing questions. He checked the hourglass on the guildmaster's table and winced when he noticed it was almost midnight. He quietly left the Cistern, making sure that nobody followed him, and made his way to the marketplace, fighting his shaky legs. Rune was sitting on the low wall surrounding the plaza, right next to his stall, gazing up at the colorful skies.

"I'm here," Brynjolf announced colorlessly.

"Oh, Bryn!" Rune breathed, jerking his head. "I didn't notice you…"

"So?"

"Well… gods, how do I say this?"

"Listen, Rune, if this is about the elixirs…"

"What?!" the youngster squealed an octave higher than his usual tone. "No! No, definitely not!"

"You… didn't drink any of it, right?"

There was a silence and Brynjolf cursed the beautiful night. Why couldn't it snow, like it always was in Skyrim? Or rain? Or why wasn't there a thunderstorm to distract him? Why was the night so beautiful, with both of the moons lighting their heads… oh, the moons… gods, no. He chased the appalling memory away.

"No," Rune shook his head at last, "I didn't. Swear."

Brynjolf slapped his forehead inwardly. _Swear._ That always meant a lie. He grabbed Rune's shoulders and shook him.

"Which one?" he asked tensely.

"But I…"

 _"_ _Which one?!"_ He felt like his head was about to burst into a thousand of pieces any second.

"Bryn, are you all right?" Rune asked with apparent concern in his voice. "You've seemed so tense today…" He raised his hand and touched his forehead, making Brynjolf take a few abrupt steps back.

"I'm… I'm perfectly fine, thank you. So what is it you wanted?"

"I think I'm gonna wait a bit longer," Rune shook his head. "We can just… you know, enjoy watching the stars together…"

_Gods dammit, are you serious?!_

"Oh, and I brought you something." He fumbled about his bag, taking out two bundles of something wrapped in linen cloth. He handed one to Brynjolf who untied it, and a piece of strawberry soufflé presented itself in all its sweetness. Brynjolf did not fail to notice its bright pink color.

"This… are you freaking serious?"

"Hey," the youngster put his hands up defensively, "I thought you might appreciate it. After the long day and all, you know. The Guild's struggling, we barely have fun…" He smiled almost apologetically.

"Whatever," Brynjolf sighed with a shake of his head. "Let's just finish them and go back." He dug into the sweet dessert, finding it surprisingly delicious, and there was silence once more.

A while later, the two of them went back to the Cistern. Brynjolf laid himself on his bed with his arms folded under his head. He felt exhausted, but that night, sleep did not come to relieve him.

**Author's Note:**

> Omg, I really wrote this shit, didn't I? Welp, now it's done. *cringe*  
> Hope you had fun. I'm out!


End file.
